


Ineffable Sacrifices

by Ineffable_cup_of_tea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Armageddon, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, Protective Crowley, Rapture, Snuggly Crowley (Good Omens), Softie Crowley (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_cup_of_tea/pseuds/Ineffable_cup_of_tea
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have managed to avert the apocalypse, or so they think. Agnes Nutter has more to say on the subject. They must find out how to save the world again from utter destruction, this time with both the Antichrist and the Second Coming Of Jesus by their side.Warning: Dark topics are introduced into later chapters





	1. Agnes’ Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Love you people but I don’t want to type more than I have to to get this positively adorable story out to the world. I’ve already posted it once, but I was an idiot and marked it all wrong. Hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> This is also a really short chapter, I know. It gets better.

For many people, life continued as normal after the averted Armageddon. Some drug addicts were shocked into rehabilitation, but just as many simple stoners became crackheads after deciding they couldn’t take the craziness of the world without it.

Everyone else continued to wake up, stretch their limbs, eat breakfast, and drive to work in the morning just like they had before.

For almost everyone, it was over, done with. Nothing else to deal with.

This is where they’d be wrong. 

A specific demon on the Earth had, just like the 400-year-old witch, Agnes, predicted the future when he figured that Armageddon hadn’t been averted, but merely delayed.

Delayed by around 23 years. 

And This again shows that God does not play dice with the universe.

He simply grabs his divine clock, sets it back, and grabs the deck of cards again, ready to deal a new hand to each and every living thing He created.

The Dealer smiles. As always.

And plays a card simply known as the High Priestess to any familiar with Tarot readings.

Or, as some would call it, the Witch.

As the flames curled and darkened the pages of the Further Nice And Accurate Prophecies Of Agnes Nutter that bright day in the park, the smoke that drifted upwards formed a face, one that would have been frighteningly familiar to Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer: Agnes Nutter herself. And she was not pleased. 

Anathema, sensing something, sat up quickly, jostling Newt, who was at her side. She looked up just as her ancestor’s annoyed visage vanished into thin air. Ah; it was simply a dream. They’d been sleeping side by side in Jasmine Cottage, in fact. 

“Newt?” Anathema turned to him quizzically.”Did you see that?” She asked, just in case.

Newt had to admit, he wasn’t paying any attention. He had been wondering intensely how he had gotten so, excuse the term, lucky*. He’d also happened to be asleep.

“No, I’m sorry, Anathema.” He mumbled, barely awake. Newt looked over at where she’d been staring, and saw nothing out of the ordinary in the early morning light.

No, he did see someone, out the window. Adam and Dog, they were running through the orchard, the Antichrist giggling joyously as he escaped his neighbor’s clutches. Newt felt a smile pulling at his lip. It was crazy to think, a week ago, he hadn’t even believed in witches. How things change.

Anathema, meanwhile, had scrambled up out of bed and got dressed quickly, heading for the kitchen.

Newt tore his gaze away from the orchard and ran after his girlfriend. 

She bolted in the door and looked suspiciously around to see if anything had changed: as Newt followed her in, bumping into her in his haste, she noted nothing out of place. 

“What did you expect to find in here, darling?” Newt inquired.

Anathema suddenly gasped. “Newt, where did you put Agnes’ box?!” She demanded.

He pointed at the counter she had breezed past, and there it sat.

The box, rusted and ancient, suddenly seemed to be taunting Anathema. A scowl came across her face. 

“Get me a phone book.”

“But, why? Darling?”

“I need to call someone about the fate of the world.” Anathema gritted her teeth. At least her contact would be willing to listen.

She hoped.

Aziraphale sat alone in his dusty Soho bookstore. He was thumbing through one of his ‘classics’, though to him any book less than 75 years old seemed brand new compared to some he had in stock**. 

And although he’d tried, he couldn’t focus on the page in front of him. He couldn’t think of so many things: of the terror when he saw Crowley being pulled away from him, in disguise as a certain soft-tempered angel. He couldn’t think of what he, a disobedient angel, would be subjected to once Head Office got over the trick and came to collect him. And mostly, he couldn’t think of Crowley himself. 

Though to be fair, Aziraphale was failing miserably at that. Crowley occupied most of his waking thoughts, and that was a lot, seeing as how he didn’t sleep. ‘In fact’,he thought, ‘I don’t know what I’d do withou-‘

Interrupting his train of thought, the phone next to him rang. The book seemed to escape his hands in his excitement. 

“Hello?” Aziraphale said, attempting to keep his voice casual. 

Instead of the reptilian voice he’d-not-so-secretly hoped for, Anathema, the pleasant witch from Lower Tadfield he’d met after Crowley ran her over in the Bentley***, answered.

“I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find what?”Aziraphale asked, flabbergasted.

“There’s another prophecy, I just know it. Where is it?” She snapped, half to herself. 

The angel stiffened.”How would I know that?” He responded, slightly offended.

“I felt it. You need to help me, please!”

He sighed into the receiver.”Miss Device, I don’t think I can.”

“You’re an angel! If you must, you can bring the one with sunglasses, and please come to Jasmine Cottage!” Anathema said. A second later, Aziraphale heard a man’s voice, and her shushing. Then, abruptly, she hung up.

He sighed. So much for not thinking about Crowley.

Resigned, he dialed the number. After three rings, his favorite demon**** picked up.

“Only you’d call now, Angel. Do you need something?” His silky voice melted Aziraphale’s brain. He couldn’t remember what he’d needed to call for.

“Uhmm.....uh-no. I mean- Yes!” He stuttered out. “Another prophecy. Lower Tadfield called, asking us to go to Anathema. Wait-“

Crowley chuckled. “I’ll be there in five minutes, angel. Don’t worry.”

Aziraphale frowned.”Drive safely.” But Crowley had already hung up.

‘Why does that keep happening to me today?’ He wondered, and glanced longingly at the book he’d no longer be able to finish this evening.

Aziraphale turned to the window, and thought again about that demon, the one who’d truly always been by his side.

“Why do I care so much about him?” He said aloud to himself.

*It was surprising that the Pulsifers had made it that far, anyhow. Their success was attributed mostly to prostitutes, extremely drunken nights, and accidental pregnancies. So in Newt’s case, he was practically Casanova. Actually, his great-great-Great grandfather had been forced to marry the one girl in town who was deaf and blind. Their marriage, reportedly, was extremely rocky.

**Aziraphale believed that somewhere he had a copy of Sumerian writings speaking of tax returns, though that was somewhat of a dull read.

*** Aziraphale swore he didn’t originally realize her bike hadn’t had gears, but Crowley still made occasional references to this blunder, especially when they would pass by bike repair shops on a stroll.

****believe it or not, Aziraphale did in fact know multiple demons, though he hadn’t spoken to any since the Rebellion. He had a second favorite, actually. A very extremely distant second favorite demon named Eligos. They’d been close once, when they were both angels, but you know how things go.


	2. Burnt Futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a certain angel and demon travel to Tadfield, to speak about a 400-year-old witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m already exhausted posting this and it’s only the second chapter. I already have 40 written and it’s not even done.

The vocals of Freddie Mercury in ,’Killer Queen’ filled Crowley’s Bentley as he sped towards Lower Tadfield with his angel in the passengers seat.

Crowley kept glancing towards Aziraphale next to him: the poor chap was holding onto his arm rest for dear life, and his eyes were tightly closed. Behind him, the English countryside was only a blur out the window.

He had never looked so adorable, Crowley thought. Though of course, being a demon, he couldn’t go around calling things adorable, especially angels. Even extremely adorable angels.

He smirked to himself as he remembered Aziraphale’s nervousness at spending time with him. He had tripped twice on his way out of his bookshop, and had then blushed and mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer*.

Crowley figured it was, because he sneezed directly afterwards and Aziraphale looked surprisingly guilty.

Speak of the angel, Aziraphale suddenly gasped, his eyes still closed. “Are we almost there? I’m feeling faint, Crowley.”

Crowley looked out the driver side window just in time to catch a blur he assumed was the sign for Lower Tadfield.

“Yes, Aziraphale.” He reassured him, and yanked the wheel to the side, switching roads suddenly.

Aziraphale, who had opened his eyes when he heard Crowley speak, glared at him as his knuckles turned white on the dashboard.

“You REALLY shouldn’t-“

The car suddenly slammed to a stop.”We’re here,” Crowley announced with a snakelike grin.

As the two beings climbed out of the car, one of them extremely shakily, Anathema met them on her front walk. 

“Come in!” She said to them both, and urged them through her front door. 

Newt was sitting nervously at the dining room table, and went white when he saw the two of them.

“‘Ello, old chap,” Crowley greeted, his grin still spread across his face.

Aziraphale shot Crowley a look that said,’Now stop being mean to the poor human, he’s been through a lot.’

Crowley blinked. ‘Maybe we DO spend too much time together.’ He thought.

Anathema turned and eyed both of them. 

“Did YOU know about Agnes’ Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies?” She blurted angrily.

Crowley’s eyebrows rose. He certainly had not. And looking over at Aziraphale, he could tell that the angel hadn’t, either.

“There’s more?!” Aziraphale practically squealed. He looked around excitedly.

“I burned them,” Anathema said.

“You what?!”

She rolled her eyes. “It was my choice.”

Crowley held his sides as he laughed at the look on Aziraphale’s face as he received that piece of news.

“B-but....” Aziraphale said, very quietly, almost to himself.

Suddenly Newt spoke. 

“Are we sure we got all of it? I mean, I couldn’t believe Agnes would fail to predict you’d burn it.”

Adam watched curiously from a nearby apple tree as the angel and demon entered Anathema’s cottage.

He had a very uneasy feeling, in multiple ways. 

As much as he’d hoped the whole ‘Antichrist’ part of his life was over forever, the sight of the celestial beings concerned him.

It had really been less than a day since he’d restarted reality, after all. It made perfect sense to worry.

Was something going to happen?

“Adam!” He heard from below him. He looked down to see his mother, and she did NOT look pleased**.

“Mum!” He jumped, and slid down from the branch he was perched upon.

Her expression softened slightly, but then she said,” You’re still grounded. Get Dog, and then we’ll go home together.”

And though she was only enforcing the rules he’d accepted his entire life, he suddenly felt an unfamiliar flash of indignation.

Adam swallowed it down, and followed her back into Tadfield. His home.

Anathema was shaking. She held a single slip of paper that had been stuck in the bottom of Agnes Nutter’s box. 

As she stood there, Aziraphale read the outside of it, over her shoulder. “Myne blood fhould not have turnt myne workf into afh and fyre. Heed myne wordf, Anathema.”

“She knew,” Anathema whispered.

“Yes.” Aziraphale confirmed.

That evening, they found out that Agnes had specially crafted a fake bottom for this precise situation***.

A second copy of the book lay in it.

*”Hail Jesus, Lord of light. Protect my mind from sin tonight.” It was Aziraphale’s custom to make up his own prayers when he was nervous. Crowley made them too, but they were more like, “Hail Satan, am I right? I’d appreciate getting laid tonight.”

**Deidre Young was a sweet but no-nonsense mother, and she knew perfectly well her son wandered off the moment he’d been left alone in the garden.

***It was quite ingenious, really. Another note was in there as well, though not important to the story. It was addressed to a mister Hadraniel, and spoke of him losing his mind, making extremely dumb choices. Newt had found it, and in his confusion it got lost in the pile, never to be seen again.


	3. The Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale would prefer not to be included. Anathema reads the book of prophecy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my story, hope you all have an amazing day and month and year.
> 
> I think this is the absolute shortest chapter in the whole story, if my memory serves me correctly. Sorry :(

“Of course she did,” Crowley snapped from his relaxed position on the couch. “When has this Nutter not predicted something, honestly? Aziraphale and I owe her our lives.” 

Aziraphale smiled and nodded.”Can I see that?” He asked quietly, and Anathema nodded and passed the book to him.

Crowley watched him carefully as Aziraphale’s eyes looked at the outside of the manuscript. He stopped as he was about to open it. 

A silence fell.

Aziraphale gulped, and handed it back to her. “Whatever it says, I can’t get involved.”

“What?!” She burst. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Why is everyone saying that.....” he muttered, and stalked out of Jasmine cottage. Anathema went to stop him, but stopped quickly, perhaps rethinking interacting with an irritated demon*. He heard Aziraphale following him hesitantly, and caught up with Crowley.

They walked together and got into his Bentley. A silence fell over the unlikely duo.

Crowley looked over at his friend, and they made eye contact. 

“Why didn’t you?” He whispered, referring to the prophecies, or maybe something else entirely.

“Because I can’t go through that again.” Aziraphale said simply. Crowley broke the gaze and glared at his steering wheel. “I had to protect you.” The angel finished, so quietly it seemed he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Crowley jerked his head up, looking deep into Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes. He saw an amount of feeling he had never expected. He didn’t and perhaps never would understand it. But it stirred something in him.

“I don’t need protecting, angel.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood, but Aziraphale stayed serious. His fingers almost subconsciously came up to touch Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley, surprised, drew back quickly. Suddenly, the look on Aziraphale’s face closed and became sad, and he turned towards the window.

“Fine. I won’t protect you in the future.” He stated flatly.

Crowley sighed. He’d broken the moment. Again. He turned the key to the Bentley and began the fast-paced and extremely quiet journey home. 

Newt sprang up from the kitchen table. “Are you going to read it?” He asked, walking to Anathema’s side.

She sighed, looking at the huge pile of papers Aziraphale had left on the counter.

“Should I?”

Newt put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, turning her to look in his eyes. “I trust you. I don’t care what Agnes Nutter thought you should do in this moment 400 years ago.”

Anathema met his eyes and smiled thankfully. Her lungs expanded as she took in a deep breath. The comforting smell of herbs and old parchment filled her nose, and she nodded.

She flipped to a random page.

The paper on the top revealed this message:

Prophecy 1,893; Thee Blessyd one fhalt become guardian to thee Chyld of God, and yet wythout thee Ferpent, he fhall ultymately fail. Temptation muft balaynce out Vyrtue. Prypare thyfelvef for thee Raptyre. Trust thyne wytchhunter Pulfyfer in thee coming days.

Newt, looking over her shoulder, suddenly blurted,”Rapture?”

Anathema gulped.”I guess last time wasn’t the end of the matter after all.”

She immediately got to work, writing down the prophecy, cross referencing with what she already knew.  
Her paper read as follows:  
Child of God-?  
Serpent- Crowley? Metaphorical evil?  
Blessed One- An angel. Does Zira still count? Perhaps a priest?  
Rapture-?  
Temptation-Sins, evil. Demons?  
Virtue-Righteousness?

Only 8,000 Prophecies to go.

‘The angel needs Crowley to protect.....what? And what will happen to the earth?’ She thought.

‘How can we stop it?’

She flipped to another page.

Prophecy 4,905:  
In the years of thee Rapture, thee Healer shalt be made as a loss, and thee Serpente, though being the savior, shalt feel lost as well. They can only heal with one another’s help.

Anathema looked up at Newt.

*Crowley had run her over the first time they met, and he wasn’t even mad then. Anathema shuddered to think of how he drove when well and truly angry.


	4. Angel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale is considered still an Angel by Heaven, and Hastur has a warning for Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I’m back again. I know most likely that almost no one will read this story in general, but that’s not why I wrote it. I wrote it because I love the characters and I didn’t want it to end.  
> Enjoy.

Crowley’s plants, being the most beautiful and verdant in the world, sadly, could use some therapy.

Aziraphale mulled over this thought, as he was currently walking away from Crowley’s flat, and some obscenities had reached his ears from Crowley’s open window.

If he had to guess, he’d say that Crowley’s Maidenhair Fern was about to receive the garbage disposal.

He continued on his way, his mind still on that yellow-eyed demon that he lo- liked to be around.

Aziraphale let out a breath, his hands raking through his blond hair, desperately trying to think of something else- perhaps the book he still needed to finish? Yes, that would work.

After strolling for a few minutes, he came upon his old bookshop, looking at it lovingly, so unbelievably glad he’d not had to see it burnt down after all.

He unlocked the door, and turned the sign to ‘Open’. 

‘Now, to business,’ He thought. ‘For the next millennia,’.

The thought depressed him.

‘First, a nap,’ he decided. He deserved it.

Crowley, meanwhile, was sitting on his large four poster bed, flipping through channels on a large tv mounted on the wall.

He flipped past a few different channels, avoiding anything that reminded him of Aziraphale.

Harder than it sounded.

As he switched away from the Great British Bake Off, he suddenly came face to face with Hastur’s dark eyes.

Crowley scrambled back quickly, and then straightened. Seeing an ancient demon starring in re-runs of Golden Girls was enough to startle anyone.

“Uh....hello?” He said nervously.

Hastur growled. “I’ve been asked to replace you on Earth, traitor.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”Crowley asked.

“There’s been news from Head Office. Stay away from the Angel, if you know what’s good for you. Either way, I will still punish you for Ligur’s death.”

Crowley raised a perfect eyebrow. He knew what that meant: he’d certainly stick to his friend as closely as possible.

He grinned, relaxing. “Is that all, Hastur? Because I might have some leftover bath water somewhere,”

The dark eyed demon on the screen looked behind him. He seemed, uncharacteristically, scared of something.

“If you have a drop of demon blood left, traitor, you’ll stay out of my way.” He growled.

Crowley outright laughed at him, grabbing the remote and turning the tv off.

His grin dropped off his face immediately.

What did Hastur mean?  
He needed to know what the prophecies said. And yet...... he couldn’t disrespect Aziraphale’s wishes.

Crowley sat up, and pulled his shoes*, laying on the floor, back into his feet.

‘Back to Tadfield?’ He thought. ‘No, the Pulsifers don’t trust me.’

‘What about calling Aziraphale?’ Crowley mused. ‘Well, he might be worried about Hastur coming to Earth.’

He decided that, for the time being, he’d follow Aziraphale, watching out for him like, Satan forbid, a guardian angel.

Gabriel and Michael stood together thoughtfully in Heaven, staring at the Earth.

“Are we sure it must be him? He’s a traitor, and besides,” Gabriel intoned, “soft. Are we sure he even still counts as an angel?”

Michael sighed, responding,”We can’t replace him upon the Earth, and the Child needs a protector. Metatron insisted.”

“But what did Go- a higher authority say on the subject?”

“For now,” Michael said, “They said that he still counted. That we need him, for the war.”

Gabriel glanced back at the earth. “Is it true? That Crowley survived the holy water?”

“Yes.” Michael answered solemnly. 

“What if he corrupts the Child?” Gabriel asked.

Michael sent him a silencing glare. Asking too many questions about the Ineffable Plan was dangerous for an angel**.

*These shoes were Crowley’s favorites, sleek black snakeskin boots. He’d had them for a few decades and they still had that brand-new shine. Perk of being a demon.

**and after all, it’s Ineffable. Not like anyone asking about the Plan could do any good.


	5. Addressing The Issue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley finds out that Aziraphale has been keeping some secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this. The story is officially done, it’s all in my notes, so it’s a matter of time until I post it.

Miss Rachel Malloy, a humble 21-year-old university student*, sat in a doctor’s office.

Dried tears covered her face. 

‘I never should have allowed it,’ she thought dejectedly. ‘I should have known he wouldn’t marry me,’.

A doctor she didn’t recognize, his name tag read Dr. Macdougal, entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“Ms. Malloy, I’ve some news fer ya,” He said in a rather thick Scottish accent. “I’m to tell ya that yer’ve fallen,”

She blinked. Rachel didn’t know what he meant. She was still a good girl, wasn’t she?

“I’m pregnant?” She whispered to herself, aghast.

He nodded. “Don’t worry yer pretty head about it yet, ye’ll be fen.”

Her hand drifted to her stomach.

“Here’s meh pamphlet, and yer veetamins.” He handed her a plastic bag filled with what she’d need for the next few months.

“Can I go?” Rachel asked, standing up.

She needed to go to church, after all. If they’d take her back. Rachel had some serious introspection to do.

Hastur brushed off his already extremely dirty coat as he slipped out of an ancient alleyway in Central London. Fresh from Hell, he was ready to begin tempting. He was immediately dazzled and confused by all the lights and sounds attacking his senses. He stood on the crowded sidewalk, and a man, hurrying along, bumped into him, surprising him. He glared at the man, who, oddly enough, didn’t turn to meet his gaze. ‘Weird mortal,’ Hastur thought.

“How the heaven did Crowley live up here for the past 6,000 years?” He muttered.

He shook his head and started walking along the filthy street in the dark night. The man, seemingly confused, stood there for a moment. His eyes flashed yellow in the light. Unnoticed, a smirk spread across his face**.

“Now, what was the address again?” Hastur asked himself under his breath. He went through his pockets frantically, picking out maggots and slugs and whatnot, but unfortunately, no paper.

“Oh Satan,” Hastur blurted. The demons Downstairs would skin him.

He’d lost it. Or so he thought.

Meanwhile, Crowley, disguised in a dark outfit, whistled ‘Fat-Bottomed Girls’ as he, now a block away, tucked the slip of paper in his pocket. 

If he knew one thing; it was that Hastur would NEVER be allowed near Aziraphale.

Crowley sauntered over to his Bentley, climbing in.

He raced through the streets of London with ‘Bicycle Race’ blaring from the car’s speakers.

Finally, a familiar sight: a humble bookshop on the corner of the street. Crowley got out, locked his precious Bentley, and went to knock on the door, to discover that it was slightly ajar. Worried, he pushed it open and walked inside.

Immediately, he heard footsteps and classical music emanating from the upstairs flat, and relaxed visibly.

‘Oh, thank Go-, Sa-, someone, he’s all right,’ Crowley thought.

He closed and locked the door behind him, and sauntered through the shop to the set of stairs leading to the flat.

As he reached the door at the top, he paused, his hand on the doorknob.

Crowley heard voices. Or, more specifically, one voice.

“Oh, lord.....He can’t know. I’m so dreadfully embarrassed!”

‘Aziraphale? What’s he talking about?’ Intrigued, he leaned closer.

“I’m an angel, after all! Anyway, this is why I never sleep! Me- doing THAT- with- no. I could never.” It sounded like the angel took a sip of tea***. Then he continued, to himself.

Crowley figured Aziraphale had had an unpleasant dream. But why would he be embarrassed?

Some force continued to stop Crowley from turning the knob.

The sound of a book being opened and flipped through reached his ears. 

“Oh, DEAR.” At this, Crowley heard Aziraphale race to the door.

He scrambled back to feign innocence, leaning against the doorframe casually.

Aziraphale threw the door open, almost running into the demon in his haste.

“Crowley?!” He spluttered, at a loss for words. 

“Hello, angel. Just checking in.” He pointed behind him. “By the way, you left your door open.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” He bolted down the stairs before Crowley could tell him he’d already fixed it.

Seeing that the angel was busy, he decided to do some snooping.

The book that he’d been going through was about dreams, just as Crowley had figured.

It was entitled,’Dreams And How To Interpret Them,’ by Eleanor Pickington****.

A page had been dog eared. Crowley checked behind him, then turned to the page.

This page was headlined,’Erotic dreams are natural, here’s why.’

His eyebrows rose. He’d always been capable of dreams like that, he’d even had one the previous night, but never had it entered his mind Aziraphale might have them too. The angel didn’t even sleep.

One of the paragraphs explained that they could be communicating unconscious or forbidden desires.

This had been highlighted, clearly, by the highlighter laying next to the book.

“Crowley!” A scandalized voice squealed behind him. “Put that down!”

Aziraphale was in the doorway, eyes wide as he clutched a book in his right hand so hard his knuckles turned white.

He hid the book almost as if he felt Crowley’s eyes on it.

Crowley looked up at him and smirked.

“Trying to hide something, Angel?”

Aziraphale spluttered again. “O-of course not!” He said, though his rosy cheeks said otherwise, and he was avoiding eye contact with Crowley.

‘Hmmmm....’Crowley thought. ‘Perhaps it was......no- it can’t be. It’s AZIRAPHALE.’

“Ok, then, Aziraphale. I believe you.” Aziraphale deflated immediately, clearly relieved. He went over to the counter, grabbing two small glasses. He set the book title-down upon the counter.

“I suppose you want alcohol?” The angel asked, facing away from Crowley. “I have procured some whiskey from 1879, very choice, I’ll pour some for you,” He said quickly, and got out the bottle.

Crowley sat quietly, letting Aziraphale get nice and uncomfortable. He watched the angel’s back.

Aziraphale turned around, handing one glass to Crowley, and sipping one himself.

“So......been having prophetic dreams?” Crowley blurted.

Aziraphale choked, spitting out his drink immediately. He turned and glared at the chuckling demon.

“You looked through my things.” He said, hurt.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Aren’t angels not supposed to hide things?” Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth, defeated.

His blush made his eyes stand out more, Crowley noticed.

Aziraphale hung his head in shame.  
“Well......”

*Rachel was majoring in Social Work, with a Minor in Theology. Of course, being a proper Christian meant that she was disgusted by most of the other religions, but she’d always liked learning about them.

**a very snake-like smirk.

***Aziraphale was actually sipping a strong whiskey from a small teacup, but sipping tea and whiskey sound much the same.

****the book was one of his more recent picks, he’d actually only just gotten it five or so years previous, and tucked it into a dark corner that was labeled self-help. It was a corner Aziraphale avoided almost religiously. Until today, of course.


	6. Of Kings and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a demon fearlessly kisses an angel, and Hastur finds a patron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter! Please leave any comments you have, I’d love to have some feedback!

“I can’t tell you, Crowley. I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said for the fourth or fifth time, by now a bright tomato red.

Crowley sighed. “Is this about me being an ass earlier?” At Aziraphale’s confused look, he elaborated. “In Lower Tadfield, a few days ago.”

Aziraphale turned away. “No,” he whispered, although Crowley could tell that was still a sore subject.

He walked over to Aziraphale. He used his fingers to tilt the angel’s chin upwards, and looked into his clear blue eyes.

Aziraphale’s pupils dilated, and Crowley saw something in them he’d never seen before: desire.

Hastur sat in an alley by himself, watching the passerby. 

‘I need a patron while on Earth,’ he thought. ‘Someone that could locate that loathsome angel,’

He had to admit, though; he was thoroughly lost.

“Are those contact lenses?” A short, thin woman had stopped by his side, holding a twenty pound note.

He simply blinked at her, confused.

She sighed. Holding out the note to him, she began to get exasperated.

“I’m trying to be a good Samaritan. Please, take the money.” She said sadly, pushing up her glasses. 

Hastur looked at her.

“Human, you wouldn’t be good even if you did gift me some currency.” He snarled.

She burst into tears. This wasn’t something Hastur had seen a human do before, and thus it concerned him.

He scrambled to his feet, and she buried her face into his dirty shirt*.

“Umm....”Hastur said, looking around. Demons weren’t supposed to comfort, after all. He was rusty. Sadly, he needed her help. “Are you all right?” He asked hesitantly.

The girl looked up to him, big innocent eyes filled with tears.  
“Promise not to tell?” She sniffled.

“Yes,” Hastur responded, resigned. He just hoped the fellow demons would forget about this less-than-sacrilegious moment.

“My fiancée, whom I loved dearly, seduced me, then left,” The girl admitted, while crying so hard he could barely understand her. He rolled his eyes. How naive, this woman was. “I’ve become...well......pregnant.” She whispered.

Hastur was scandalized, even as a demon. The last time he’d spent this much time on Earth, even handholding before marriage was forbidden.

How things change. After a moment, he decided to charm her into helping him.

“What’s your name? I’ll help you home,” He said mock-sweetly.

The woman sniffled once more. “Rachel Malloy.”

Anathema was extremely worried. In all her research about the Rapture, none had sounded particularly good. 

Newt, having gotten a job, helped her when he can, despite her begging him to stay home with her.

She leafed through her research again, hoping that something would jump to her attention.

No luck. 

She sighed, rubbing her temple. Her hand drifted to the phone, then away again. The angel wouldn’t get involved, and she doubted a demon would be much help anyway.

At this point, she felt that it was a waiting game.

Adam Young loved the summer, although if course it included thinking of more things for the Them to do.

Their latest ‘inquiry’ had been into medieval knighthood. He was the King, Brian was the Jester, Pepper was the Knight, and Wensley had been talked into being the Maiden.

They were walking through the woods, Wensley lifting up his skirts**, and Pepper whacking offending trees with her ‘sword’.

Suddenly, a group of older students from the nearby town appeared along the forest path.

One of them, a red headed girl around 14, caught Adam’s eye and smiled shyly.

Adam felt his knees go weak. He composed himself and gave her a king-like nod before turning to Pepper.

“Continue with fighting the army, Sir Pepper.” Adam decreed.

She nodded firmly, viciously attacking an oak, scoring it with her weapon.

The group got closer, as Wensley and Brian stood tensely at the side of their king.

“What’re you fellas playing?” A different girl, a tall brunette asked.

Wensley lifted up his crown to look seriously at her. “We’re not playing. This is a formal inquiry into the nature of medieval knights.”

“Quite,” Brian agreed.

Adam, however, at this point, stopped listening. He was looking at the first girl again. She fluttered a hand at him, a shy look on her pretty face.

He smiled at her.

*Even Hastur himself wasn’t sure of all that despoiled his ancient shirt. He’d bragged there was angel blood on it, but it was truly most likely some human’s blood from the twelfth century.

**The dress Wensleydale was wearing was in fact his mother’s wedding dress. It had been her mother’s as well, and was of a style that would have been fashionable in the seventies but made the poor boy look like a Victorian ghost.


	7. Misread, Mis-said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anathema contacts Shadwell, and Aziraphale pushes Crowley away

Retired Witch Finder Sergeant Shadwell sat peacefully at his breakfast table, sipping his tea, and looking at his wife.

Mrs. Marjorie Shadwell. How...... unexpected. Though he’d admit she wasn’t as much of a jezebel she’d been even six months ago.

He still thought that perhaps she’d used witchcraft in him. But he thought- maybe this once- he’d let it slide. 

As he gazed at her, the telephone suddenly rang.

“Must be Private Pulsifer,” he muttered, startling her gaze from the magazine she’d been reading.

He grabbed the phone, pulling it to his ear.

“Shadwell!” Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t Pulsifer, but rather, his jezebel, named something weird- Annabelle?

“It’s Anathema.” She reminded him, taking his silence to mean he’d forgotten.

“I knew that,” he assured, looking at his wife questioningly. She shot him a look in response.

Anathema sighed, and cut to the chase. “I believe that the Rapture is coming.”

“What do ye want me to do, jezebel?” He asked. “I’m retired. Ask yer witch finder.”

Then she told him, everything. Shadwell was shocked.

“But the pansy-“

“He refused.”

“And the one with sunglasses?” He asked, a little concerned. He remembered Anthony J. Crowley* as a madman, after all.

She sighed again in defeat.

Crowley pressed his mouth to Aziraphale’s frantically, never knowing quite how much he’d always wanted to.

The angel tasted like sweets, tea, whiskey, and a little bit of heaven.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was shocked. Subconsciously, he kissed Crowley back. It felt dangerous and wrong yet right- so long awaited- and right. So right.

The demon snuck his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth, and the angel- quite unexpectedly- moaned.

He was losing himself in the moment, and couldn’t care less. His hands came up and grabbed handfuls of Crowley’s luscious red hair. The demon moaned appreciatively.

He’d never been gladder he didn’t need to breathe. That is, until Crowley did something that shocked Aziraphale back into his old self. His hand slid downward to the front of Aziraphale’s 150-year-old trousers, giving his, Well, you know**— a solid squeeze.

Aziraphale jumped back, sweaty and red. “CROWLEY!” He screeched, a full octave higher than usual.

He straightened his clothes, breathing heavily, looking up and down at the demon, who simply looked perturbed that he was no longer snogging Aziraphale.

Crowley looked at him with deceptively innocent eyes.

“What, Aziraphale?” He asked, a little breathless himself.

“I-I-I......you can’t do that, Crowley! I just.....I’m an angel, damn it!”

“So?”

Aziraphale nearly tore his hair out. “I can’t Fall.... I don’t even LIKE you.....”

Crowley stared at him. “Are you still in denial about us?”

“Us?!” Aziraphale screamed. “There can’t be an Us! I don’t know what you thought I felt-“

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. The angel, knowing he’d made a mistake, tried to apologize, but Crowley wordlessly turned and swept out of the flat.

Aziraphale stood there, stunned. He flinched when he heard the bookshop door being slammed shut.

He couldn’t ever admit it, but he had- very much so- enjoyed........fraternizing*** with Crowley.

Aziraphale regretted lying, but an angel could never do what Crowley clearly wanted to.

But why was he dwelling on it so much?

*The J. Stands for Judas, after the famous disciple that betrayed Jesus. Crowley had known him personally, and was in awe of how much the man could drink in one sitting. He had yet to meet his match before or afterwards, and took the name as a sign of respect.  
Anthony didn’t mean anything, though. Crowley just liked the sound of it.

**His fellow knights of the round table all had nicknames for their own members. He remembered Lancelot’s was ‘sexcalibur,’ and that apparently Guinevere had been the stone, if Aziraphale’s memory was correct. Arthur, supposedly, did not appreciate this joke when it finally reached his ears.

***or whatever you wish to call it.


	8. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley hears from Anathema, and Adam accidentally uses his powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who have read so far! I really hope you’re enjoying the story!

Crowley drove as fast as he always did, but in an angry silence. The streets of London were only a dismal gray blur in his window.

He’d expected.......well, he wasn’t quite sure WHAT he’d expected, but he was pissed off in how it turned out. He was just as angry at himself.

Crowley KNEW that Aziraphale wasn’t ready, yet had ignored it. He always felt so- so- at odds around Aziraphale. He wanted to ravage him and cuddle him, wanted to whisper sweet things in his ear, and tease him relentlessly.

He wanted to spend his life with the angel, he was finally willing, after the Almostpocalypse, to admit.

Damn that angel and his Virtue. Crowley was tired of Aziraphale being so high and mighty. Of being such a tease.

He wanted that angel to feel what he felt: powerful, aching desire. Looking into those beautiful eyes, he saw some, but not enough.

Not that excruciating amount.

He swore under his breath, pulling up to the curb leading to his apartment.

He clambered up the stairs, snapping his fingers to unlock his door, and stalked inside.

Just as he fell upon an extremely fashionable yet uncomfortable couch, his phone rang.

“Better not be that damned angel,” he grumbled, standing back up to get it.

He snatched up the receiver, yelling into it,”Don’t call anymore, Aziraphale. And don’t bother showing up to apologize, after what you said to me, either, you-“

“It’s Anathema-“

“Don’t INTERRUPT my angry rant, Angel, and you always assume that I don’t feel- wait. Who?” He stopped suddenly, embarrassed.

Anathema answered again. “This is Anthony J. Crowley, right?” She asked.

He meekly responded. “Yes. What were you calling about, witch?”

“It’s ANATHEMA, and Newt and I read the prophecy.”

“Now, don’t you pull ME into it just because that poor excuse for an angel-“ Crowley growled.

“It’s about YOU. I can’t interpret it any other way.” Anathema said, irritated. This conversation, to her, felt very one-sided.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

Adam slept that night, after meeting the ginger girl he learned was named Sarah. She lived in Upper Tadfield, and he had followed her around like a puppy. Pepper, for one, had not appreciated his antics*.

In his dream, he was in the woods, upon the stump he’d decreed was his throne.

But he looked down, and it was real gold. The armrests were encrusted with glittering jewels. 

On either side, a tall knight stood protectively as his guards.

The first was in dark armor, and his face was covered.

The second was in a white cloak and chain mail, and his face was visible, though blank.

A hand reached for Adam’s shoulder, and he turned to see Sarah’s startling green eyes piercing into his. She was wearing a medieval style dress that matched her eyes exactly.

She leaned down to kiss him, and he started sweating.

Sarah’s lips brushed his own, and he sighed, his whole body spasming from nervousness.

He woke up in the middle of the night, clammy and uncomfortable, but having enjoyed himself quite a bit.

He went back to sleep, the memory of the dream evaporating, and the next morning, he found his friends at his door, excited and confused.

Pepper burst out,”Adam, aren’t you not supposed to use your powers?”

“Yeah, why?”

“There’s a gold throne in the woods instead of that stump!” Wensley said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Adam’s jaw dropped. ‘Uh oh,’ He thought.

*”a king doesn’t run around after girls, Adam!”


	9. Ultrasounds and Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hastur uses Rachel for his benefit, and Crowley reappears in the most unlikely of places.

Three months later

Rachel smiled up at Hastur, who, somehow, was looking presentable next to her in the ob/gyn’s office.

He smiled back, though it was essentially a grimace. ‘Naïve brat.’ He thought

The doctor looked from the small Christian woman who’d cried in his office mere months before, to the demon that seemed to be.... taking care of her?

It was odd, even for the simple doctor who didn’t really recognize each of them for what they were.

“Thank you, Hastur,” She whispered.

He nodded. “After this, we’ll drive to Soho?” Time for the Angel to meet his Maker*.

Her smile dimmed, only a fraction. “My church is having an event today, I told you. Maybe you should come?”

He shook his head violently. “Can I borrow your car if I drop you off?”

Rachel agreed as the obstetrician gave her the print of her little miracle.

Hastur’s cover.

He could sense the child within her, full of holiness. Extremely similar to an angel’s aura, actually. Enough to cover a Duke of Hell, anyway.

Hastur figured the whelp would be some saint or whatnot. It didn’t concern him.

Aziraphale, rather abruptly, decided to take a stroll in the park, feeding the birds. There it was peaceful and oh-so-quiet.

He wanted to clear his head of the demon constantly dominating his psyche**.

He put the book he’d been flipping through back upon its shelf.

‘I wish I could apologize to Crowley....’ he thought to himself, not for the first time. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, though. Aziraphale had called a total of 143 times within the past 3 months, with no response. He’d showed up to Crowley’s flat 38 times. No answer.

He locked and shut down the bookshop, seeming to all the world like a simple caring blond book seller that had suffered a recent heartbreak.

The weather truly didn’t help him either; it was stormy and gray. 

He walked carefully along the street, watching for cars and passerby. Naturally, his eyes scouted for a black Bentley on the road, or a tall red-haired demon in the crowd.

He walked through the gates into the park. It was surprisingly empty, he thought it was due to the weather. Aziraphale felt a fond smile light up his face when he saw the ducks. He turned away from them when he felt a stab of emotion in his chest.

Aziraphale reached the bench he’d always sit in with Crow- 

Best now to avoid that. The angel took out a bag of bird food and a small loaf of bread.

As the pigeons happily pecked around in front of him, Aziraphale felt an unfamiliar presence.

A demon.

Hastur, meanwhile, had stumbled his way to the park. The lack of technology calmed him, and here he could do some old-fashioned evil. Tempt a priest or something.

He was walking along the path, cursing the fact that it was empty, when he sensed a extremely faint aura as well. Angelic.

Hastur began to laugh maniacally. 

“Time to take care of him! He must be at least a few miles away!” He growled.

He stalked off in the direction he had sensed, but stopped suddenly.

‘I spy with my little demon eye, an angel!’ Hastur thought, looking at Aziraphale across the park, still happily feeding the plump birds.

Perfect. No Crowley to protect him.

Hastur slipped into the shadows of the trees, skulking over to the angel to take him by surprise.

Just as he was entering Aziraphale’s line of sight, a snake jumped from the bushes, and halfway turned into a man- well, sort of- with dark clothes and yellow eyes.

Hastur hit the ground with a THUD, with the figure falling heavily on top of him.

Aziraphale whipped around to observe what was going on. His jaw dropped in surprise.

Crowley, whom he hadn’t seen for almost 3 months, was wrestling Hastur.

Hastur, meanwhile, was fending off an extremely pissed off demon that had attacked him out of the blue.

“I knew you were a traitor, but I didn’t realize you’re suddenly in lo-“ Hastur was silenced with a hard blow to the nose.

Crowley’s finger turned into knives, and his eyes glowed almost red.

“I betrayed you, not the angel. You ssssshould be hunting ME!” He hissed.

Hastur laughed through a bloody nose. “You do a swell enough job destroying yourself, Crowley.”

Aziraphale bolted to Crowley’s side, pulling the two apart.

“Uh....Hastur. How great to see you.” Aziraphale started nervously, trying to diffuse the tension.“How long have you been on Earth?”

Hastur spit blood into Crowley’s face and sat up. “I’m not answering you, traitor angel.”

Crowley wiped his face off and looked at the confused angel. “That meanssss three monthssss.”

Hastur looked between them, outraged. “No it certainly does not! Crowley I swear to-“

“How do you think you lossssst Aziraphale’s address so quickly?” Crowley interrupted.

Hastur’s black eyes flashed. In response, Crowley pointed to himself with a smirk.

He winked at Aziraphale. “Can I get a ‘wahoo’?”

*not like Aziraphale hadn’t met his Maker. It was simply a phrase Hastur had heard playing from those sound and light boxes humans called TV.

**and in certain fantasies, dominating HIM.


	10. Calls and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam wonders about puberty and Anathema receives an angry phone call from an angel.

Anathema had been working on the prophecies for what felt like eternity.

She still wasn’t sure she should have told Crowley what the first prophecy said when she had first called, but the raw vulnerability seeping through his angry rant convinced her he was truly a kindred spirit.

Anathema had called Crowley after that, about once a week, to check in. He’d been watching Hastur, yet lost the trail after about a month. After that he’d followed Aziraphale, making sure no harm would come to the angel. She knew he also needed time to heal after the fight.

Anathema, in her infinite wisdom, had eventually convinced Crowley to forgive Aziraphale for what he’d said. She knew the world- at least, to some extent- depended on it.

Yet she was still surprised by the slightly miffed phone call she received this particular afternoon.

She’d been sitting with Newt, going through the prophecies from the 1940s as a break from looking towards the future. It was truly fascinating, as she read out warnings of the Second World War written hundreds of years before it occurred.

“Thye book-keeper shalt be hoodwynked by thy Jesuit Torturers, yet never feer, thee sly Serpynt shalt brave Holy ground and-“

Anathema’s aloud reading was interrupted by the phone ringing insistently.

Newt tripped over himself going to get it for her, and finally handed it over, tomato-red in the face.

“Anathema Device! I simply cannot believe you entrusted the prophecy to-to-“

“Aziraphale!” She stopped him. “I thought you would be Crowley.”

“Do I look like an arrogant, malicious, wily- oh shut up, Crowley- demon?” Aziraphale said incredulously.

“He’s there with you?” Anathema asked, bewildered. “I thought he’d still be watching for Hast-“

“I was just attacked- WITHOUT WARNING- in my favorite park.” Aziraphale blurted, clearly irritated.

She kept the phone next to her ear, but looked over at Newt, concerned. “Are you all right?” Anathema inquired into the receiver.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” He suddenly turned back into the reassuring angel for a second. “It’s all tickety-boo.”

She heard Crowley chuckling in the background of the call, and suddenly another strained voice, muffled.

“Wait....where did you put Hastur?”

“Oh, HIM. Well, Crowley had the idea to trap him in a holy circle, so he’s in his makeshift prison cell. I made sure he had plenty of food and water.”

Newt, overhearing this, mouthed,’ I thought demons didn’t need all that?’*

Anathema ignored this. 

“Ok, any other reason for calling?” She asked.

“I guess not- well......- no.” Aziraphale said in his typical bumbly manner.

Anathema nodded. “Good. I have something to tell you, though.”

“What?”

“You need to find Christ.”

Down in the dark, wet office hallways of Hell, Beelzebub pondered.

“Dagon, have you checked in on Hastur? It’s been a little while since we’ve heard from him.” She asked the disgusting demon next to her.

“Yes, ma’am, I had Dantalion take care of it. He said Hastur is doing well, gained around 50 souls for our Lord.”

Beelzebub nodded, and the topic was dropped. They continued watching fellow demons come and go, happy in the knowledge the War would come, and they would win.

Of course, neither of them knew that in turn, Dantalion delegated his task to Vassago, who then asked Sabnock to do it as a favor. Sabnock agreed, but then abruptly completely forgot about the task**. When Vassago asked him how it went, he lied, as demons are extremely prone to do. This lie was the one that eventually reached Beelzebub’s ears.

So in reality, not a single demon actually knew what was going on up on Earth.

Of course, besides Hastur, who was stuck in a Holy Trap at that precise moment.

And Crowley, who’d put him there.

Worriedly, Adam lay in bed. He was extremely concerned about his most embarrassing dreams becoming reality. Not just due to his own humiliation, but any supernatural beings would be able to find him easier, due to his aura reaching further.

The evening after his first dream, he pulled his dad aside, and very seriously asked about the issue.

Minus the whole control-of-reality part, obviously.

His father had laughed, not in a mean way- Adam didn’t think his father was capable of that kind of laughter- but then reassured Adam it was perfectly normal.

Part of what he called,’ Growing Up,’.

In the following months, Adam tried extremely hard to avoid such things. He hadn’t seen Sarah again, which was for the best, but his thoughts hadn’t gone away.

He decided one day to ask Newt and Anathema for advice. He still visited them regularly, and he felt they’d understand better, being aware of his unearthly powers.

Adam walked to their house after lunch the next afternoon. This happened to be the same afternoon Aziraphale had called, though of course Adam didn’t know that.

He knocked once upon the door of Jasmine Cottage. Newt, still a little shaken as he always was after talking to supernatural beings, answered the door.

“Oh, hello, Adam.” He said, a small smile showing on his face. “Come in, Anathema just made biscuits, or as she calls them,’cookies’.”

Lured by the promise of sweets, he walked inside. Anathema sat on the couch, going through old notecards, with a plate of steaming cookies on the table in front of her.

“Hello, Anathema.” Adam said. 

She looked up, smiling. “Hello Adam. You needed to ask us something?”

Newt, beside him, shivered. “We’ve lived together three months and it still freaks me out when she does that.”

Adam laughed, and nodded, leaning over to grab a cookie.

He was silent for a long moment.

“Promise not to tell?” He asked hesitantly. Now that the time had come to put it into words, he was nervous.

“We promise.” She confirmed.

*demons don’t need food or water. Just as angels don’t need food or water. Aziraphale, though, had considered the thought that Hastur, like him, liked food. And even though he was a prisoner, the angel still wanted to treat him well.

**Sabnock actually never had a chance to go to Earth, anyway. He’d recently been assigned to work under Dagon, lord of the files. Extremely dull work. So of course he agreed to go, and then spent the next 49 hours sorting between souls for specific crimes and souls for general evil. It was mind-numbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave notes and any other story ideas you want me to write in the comments: I have far too much free time. Who’s your favorite character? :)


	11. Cages and Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Please comment any thoughts!

Crowley sat in Aziraphale’s flat for the first time in months, enjoying a glass of old whiskey as he eyed Hastur, trying to figure out how to get him to spill.

Hastur saw him looking, and hissed. He threw himself against what looked like just air, but it was the barrier of his prison, and he fell back, landing for the eighth time on his back.

Crowley chuckled. “All that time spent with that holy woman, you’re still held by that tiny symbol.”

Of course, he knew perfectly well that he, as a demon, would also have been stuck, had someone decided to trap him.

But Hastur didn’t know that.

Hastur cursed at him.” That humble bitch was my ticket to the angel. I just couldn’t convince her to go.”

Aziraphale, entering the room after his phone call, looked extremely affronted.

“Don’t say such things! That woman is extremely pious, she just.... made a few bad choices.” The angel defended.

“Sounds a little like you, angel.” Crowley laughed.

“Oh, stop it.”

Hastur rolled his eyes. “Could you two stop flirting? Or we’ll find out if demonic vomit can exceed the reaches of your cruel circle. Why not kill me like you did Ligur?”

Aziraphale shot him a disapproving look. “Shouldn’t you be telling us information now? And I thought demons like cruel.”

Crowley looked back at Hastur, who appeared to be extremely pissed off. He grinned.

Aziraphale was teasing Hastur better than him! ‘How the world changes.’ Crowley thought to himself.

Hastur shut his mouth tightly and turned away. He appeared much like a toddler having a tantrum.

“How about this- you tell us where she lives, now- and we move you to the basement with a bigger circle?” Crowley proposed, full of cheer. “Maybe we could play some music? You seem like a One Direction kind of guy!”

Hastur growled.

Aziraphale sighed. “Hastur, you mustn’t do this. I can help you.”

“My job upon the Earth is to stop you from reaching her. Any means necessary.” He forced out.

“Well, MY job was to watch the Antichrist for eleven years, but that didn’t work out either.” Crowley pointed out.

He sighed when Hastur didn’t respond. “Aziraphale, we may have to go to more extreme methods.”

The angel’s eyes widened.

Rachel, meanwhile, was getting worried. It had been hours since she’d last seen Hastur.

She didn’t know why she trusted him- demonic intervention- but she was sure he would be back in time to pick her up from the fish fry.

It was obvious to everyone, including Rachel, that he was eccentric and not particularly nice, but she had tried to see the good side of everyone.

Now she was at home, in her tiny yet clean flat in a rather sweet section of London. The deacon, rather nicely, had offered to drive her from the event.

Rachel rubbed her hand reassuringly on the swell of her stomach, and wished she had lead life differently.

Right as she lifted her hand, the phone rang.

She picked it up, and it was an automatic message.

“Hello miss- Ray chill. Mal Oi.” It said.”Your car, a- two thousand and two black Toyota Camry- has been towed from-“ 

she nearly dropped the phone in her haste to get a pen and paper. Rachel rapidly wrote down the address stated, and continued to listen.”and will now be found in- lot number forty-seven- to be paid for and collected.”

She was shocked. He’d abandoned her car. 

The address, after she looked it up, was a quaint little bookshop. Why would Hastur have been there?

It simply didn’t make sense.

Rachel resolved to find out, and as soon as possible.

“How is the Almighty’s son?” Uziel asked Michael, as they stood in heaven.

“He is being....processed, by a worthy human woman.” Michael stated stiffly.

Gabriel, who in fact had BEEN to Earth, was confused. “How does a human woman PROCESS the Christ Child?” 

Michael sighed. 

Though in the disgusted look all three angels shared, one could judge none of them had any real idea.

Uziel cleared her throat.”So, has the traitor found the Child yet?”

“No, no yet.”

“But he will soon?”

“Yes.”


	12. Lessons and Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The celestial beings are called in to help with puberty(even though they’ve never experienced it). Later, they meet Rachel, and Crowley is a salty boy. He doesn’t like religious fanatics much, well, religious people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy, and comment any thoughts or prompts, really anything! Thanks for reading!

Adam looked incredulously at Anathema as she made her case on how he should handle his ‘Growing Up,’. 

“Let me explain.” She assured. Newt nodded at Adam, but a questioning look came over his face.

“I think that it will help them both. They’ll be raising a child, after all. Balance is their forte.” Anathema said with confidence.

Adam raised an eyebrow. 

“Just let me give them a call. I’m sure Aziraphale would be happy to do something without taking too many risks.”

Newt, in turn, raised his own eyebrow. “He’s going to help the Antichrist through puberty. I’d say that’s taking a fair few risks, darling.” He pointed out.

Anathema whipped around and shushed him.

She reached over him to get the phone, as well.

“Anathema, what if they’re busy, what with that-“ Newt asked quickly, but was silenced. The question hung in the air as Anathema dialed Aziraphale’s number.

It was picked up after six rings.

“Hello, you’ve reached Ezra Fell’s Tickety-Boo Book-“

“That’s not what it’s called and you bloody well know it, you- foul fiend!”

Crowley gasped audibly into the receiver on his end.

Anathema stopped him before he could respond in kind.

“Crowley! I need your help.” She pleaded to the demon.

“With what, another Armageddon? Why do you call the demon every time someone stubs their toe?”

A sigh escaped her lips.

“You need to learn to help Adam with his powers.” She explained.

A small scuffle was heard and Aziraphale spoke next.

“I thought he had it under control?” He asked worriedly.

Anathema looked towards Newt for help, but he simply shrugged.

Adam mumbled under his breath and held out his hand, asking for the phone.

“I’m apparently going through what humans call ‘puberty’.” Adam admitted. He felt awkward not including himself in the human category, but that was the truth.

The angel gasped. “I’ll be right over.”

Crowley knocked on the door to Jasmine Cottage with a highly stressed angel next to him.

It swung open immediately, and Adam stood in the doorway.

Anathema popped up behind him and beckoned them inside.

Crowley crashed onto the couch next to Newt, who quietly whimpered, causing the demon to smirk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was pacing in front of them on the floor.

“I’ve never dealt with- well I know a fair few humans who’ve had issues- I say- oh my.......”he gushed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and turned to Anathema. “Well? What exactly is puberty? I’ve certainly never experienced it.”

She looked surprised. “Well.....-I never thought I’d be giving the sex talk to an angel and a demon- puberty is a human’s progression from child to adult.”

“Then why do you need our help?” Crowley asked.

Newt sat up and cut in. “The thing of it is..... people are- UNPREDICTABLE during this time.”

Aziraphale looked even more horrified. “How so?”

“They do things they regret, they feel more strongly than ever, and they feel insecure most of the time.”

Crowley began laughing so hard, he was shaking. Anathema gave him a glare that could wither stone. Adam frowned at him.

“Shut up! I need to learn how to control these- these urges! It’s affecting my powers!”

Crowley sobered up, as Aziraphale said, “I think this talk will need to be a bit more private. Does that sound better, Adam?”

The child nodded.

Newt looked around, and then realized he wasn’t wanted. “Come on, Anathema. Let’s try Lower Tadfield’s Ice Cream Parlour.” She nodded as well, and they left, though somewhat hesitatingly. The witch looked back at Adam one last time before disappearing out the door.

Crowley stood up as well. “This is not really my thing, I don’t control urges.”

“Yeah you don’t.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

“What, am I supposed to bottle up and lie about my feelings, Angel?” He hissed. Adam looked out the window at this.

“At least I don’t cross boundaries never meant to be crossed!”

“Never meant to be crossed?! You’ve been lying to yourself for 6,000 years, Angel!”

Adam held up both of his palms. They looked down and realized they were face-to-face, with Adam wedged between them.

Adam sighed. “Look, I think Anathema wanted to have BOTH of you help me, because I CAN’T go satisfying every urge, OR bottling up how I feel for 6,000 years.”

He smiled at the silence following that statement.

“Why doesn’t Crowley help me let my feelings out, while Aziraphale helps me learn to have personal control?”

The celestial beings, still shocked into silence by the 12-year-old, nodded their agreement.

“Good. Now right now, you need to return to your bookshop. Someone extremely important awaits.” Adam suggested wisely. Crowley rolled his eyes at how much driving he’d had to do, but they drove back.

And indeed it was true.

Rachel Malloy rang the doorbell insistently for the closed bookshop, and after she received no answer, she sat down on the steps, and in her confusion and hormonal haze, began to weep.

Suddenly, a peaceful feeling settled over her.

“Don’t cry, my dear lady. Why don’t you come in?” A sweet looking blond gentleman in a trench coat, clearly having just arrived himself, told her.

He straightened up, offering her a hand to help her up, which she took. He then unlocked the door, letting her in. Behind her, a rather different gentleman slunk in, his dark sunglasses completely hiding his eyes from view.

She looked around. It was a small space, packed to the brim with old books, dusty and ancient, but somehow felt cozy and welcoming.

The nice man sat her on a comfortable armchair. “Would you like a drink? Some tea?”

Rachel shook her head. She eyed the other gentleman warily.

The first one then analyzed her, with a small smile.

“You’re quite the good-hearted woman, aren’t you?”

“I- I guess so.” She stuttered.

The dark man laughed. “So uptight. How’d a girl like you end up in this situation?” He asked, gesturing to her abdomen.

Rachel’s eyes filled with angry tears. “It-it’s God’s plan! You be quiet about what He wants for my life.”

“Well, is it his Ineffable-“

“Shut up,” the nice man scolded quietly. “How far along are you?” He asked her politely.

“Five months,” She whispered into her arm, where she was hiding her face.

“I can tell your child will be a great person one day. Could you give us a second?” He asked.

She nodded, and he grabbed his companion’s arm.

The two men went into the next room, yet left the door open, so she heard the entire conversation anyway.

“What does the prophecy say, Crowley?” The nice man said to the dark man- Crowley, he called him?

Crowley responded,”well, I think that naïve young thing may be carrying God’s Miracle after all.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Do you remember that young man we met in Jerusalem, angel?”

The nice man— perhaps named Angel— gasped.

“We must protect her, then. She’ll stay here.”

“No, Hastur’s here.” Crowley said.

Her pulse quickened. She WAS at the right place. 

“She shouldn’t stay with you—you’ll corrupt her.”

“Angel, I’m not a tempting machine, and you know that. You wanted that kiss just as much as I did.”

“Crowley. You know I could never........ give you what you want.”

The dark man sighed. “I’ll take care of the girl for the next few months, I suppose.”

“Ok, but I’ll be checking up on her, I hope you know.”

She composed herself as they returned to the room.

“So, and I hope we don’t have to force you, but you’ll be staying here in SoHo.” The nice man said. “My name is Aziraphale, and you will be moving in with Crowley.” Aziraphale explained, pointing at Crowley.

She wiped her face, and stood determined.“No.”

He was shocked.”B-But.... what?”

“Where is Hastur?”Rachel demanded.

Crowley looked absolutely bewildered. “You? Know Hastur?”

“He’s my friend.”

Aziraphale choked. “My dear, you’d best not continue to claim that.”

She glared at him.”I’m helping him become a better person. I don’t care who you think he is, I’m not going anywhere without him.”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, confused.

They both stood there for a moment, speechless.

“You....should tell her.” Crowley said. He tried not to laugh.

Aziraphale was quite taken aback by that. He looked at Crowley, then Rachel, then Crowley again, before taking a deep breath.

“Rachel, you are about to be honoured with my true identity.”

And in a flash of light, two great big beautiful wings appeared behind Aziraphale. They were like a dove’s—not completely white—with gray speckles. They glowed with a heavenly light. She and Crowley* were both in awe of the sight in front of them(though, admittedly, for vastly different reasons).

Rachel opened and closed her mouth, and suddenly, she fainted. In a quick rush of protectiveness, Crowley swept forward and caught her before she fell directly on her baby bump, now rather prominent.

*an angel’s wings are what marks them as an individual. Crowley absolutely adored Aziraphale’s wings, though he’d only seen them four times in 6,000 years. All four times were exceedingly memorable. He still dreamt about it often.


	13. Fishy Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley hates Christian channels, and Adam tells him the truth about Aziraphale.

Three months later

The time really had flown. In the past few months, a small church lost their most dedicated member, and an angel kept a demon tied in the basement of a bookshop. Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Hastur was being hidden by Aziraphale’s aura, while Crowley was playing Midwife for the wretch carrying the Christ Child.

He was sick of it.

“If she asks for one more damned fish, I swear to Satan....”

Crowley was muttering to himself as he poured the expectant mother yet another glass of grape juice.

“Crowley?” She called pitifully from his bedroom.

“I’m coming!” He yelled, irritated.

He came in with her glass, to see this era’s Virgin Mary trying—and failing— to get out of bed.

“Rachel, no getting out of bed, angel’s orders. He’ll be over in an hour.” Crowley droned.

She looked up, her green eyes filled with anxiety.

Crowley gazed down at her with some disdain. Only blue eyes REALLY did it for him, anyhow.

“Lay back down. Why don’t I turn on Sunday Worship?” He offered politely.

It gave him a raging headache, but also cured many of her pregnancy symptoms. It drove him nuts.

Rachel smiled and nodded. “Afterwards, can I call Hastur?”

“We TOLD you, he’s a bad man,” Crowley said, thinking of the discussion that decided that she wouldn’t know of the existence of demons.

It might stress her out, Aziraphale had pleaded, despite the fact she now lived with one.

As he left the room to avoid the “Hail Marys” and the “Amens”, he heard his bell being rung.

He rushed down the stairs, trying to ignore the bubbles of happiness and relief filling his body. He straightened his shirt and fixed his hair first, before pulling the door open.

Aziraphale was at the door, looking as delectable as usual. His face was a tad flushed, and his blue eyes twinkled.

This also irritated Crowley. He was sleeping in the study now, the room furthest from Rachel’s bedroom.

It was imperative that Baby Mama Preacher And Almost Baked Baby Jesus didn’t know about his..... situation.

He’d been helping Adam bit by bit, but that only made his feelings worse. He was having frequent wet dreams featuring a certain blue eyed angel.

They were extremely detailed, and just the memory of the one from the night before made his tight pants even tighter.

He composed himself. “Hello, Aziraphale. Rachel’s watching the telly.” He pointed upstairs.

Aziraphale nodded. He looked deeply into Crowley’s face, as if to memorize it, then rushed upstairs.

Crowley sighed. He hardly noticed that Adam was in the doorway as well.

“Oh, hi, Antichrist.” He jabbed.

Adam frowned. “It’s Adam. And we need to talk.”

“About what?” 

“Aziraphale. He’s falling apart.”

Aziraphale lightly opened the door to see Rachel, the sweetie, sleeping peacefully on Crowley’s bed.

Ah.... Crowley’s bed—a setting of many of his less-than-holy daydreams. ‘No, you mustn’t think of that,’ Aziraphale thought to himself. He forced those thoughts to the dark recesses of his brain.

He shook his head to clear it, and turned to see an Ad for prayers. No wonder Crowley had already been right by the door.

He switched the channel to something no one could disagree with; a cooking channel.

Then he settled into the chair next to the bed, and covered Rachel tenderly with a blanket.

As his fingers brushed her belly, he felt a kick.

“Oh!” He gasped aloud. Of course, he’d felt it before, but feeling direct contact from the Child of the Almighty wasn’t something he’d get used to.

The angel settled back into his plush black chair, satisfied. He grabbed the nearest book, the Bible, and with a pen began making his own footnotes. As he started with the story of Adam and Eve, a certain demon still lingered in the back of his mind.

“What’s wrong with him? He seems fine.” Crowley worried, falling back into one of his chairs, as Adam took a different one. He was almost three inches taller now, and seemed more mature, somehow.

Adam cleared his throat. “His emotions are TOO bottled up. I know about the dream. He eventually told me. He’s been having more of those, and is concerned he’ll be damned. You have to convince him to loosen up, to prove to him he’ll be fine.”

Crowley frowned for a minute, yellow eyes narrowing, then perked up. “Tempt him, you mean?” His face fell. “It’d never work.”

He licked his lips as he imagined what dreams the angel must have had to believe he’d be damned.

Adam suddenly appeared very wise as he spoke next. “He has to be corrupted, just as you must be saved.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. What a cliché line.


	14. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three demons are in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are shorter, but they will get quite a bit longer, give it time, we’re still in the beginning here.

Back at the bookshop.

Hastur sat in his allotted space in the basement, and was using his sharp nails to scratch a satanic symbol into the floor.

He was sick and tired of everything on that Satan forsaken planet. 

The angel was annoying, and acting suspiciously nice. He also hated the little boy that occasionally visited the shop.

“I wish I never took this job,” he muttered.

Hastur started chanting in old Latin, using the demon equivalent of 911.

As he uttered the last few syllables, Dagon appeared in the circle. She looked around in confusion, then stared at him.

“What the heaven- Hastur! I thought you were doing well.”

“I’ve been captured.” Hastur growled.

“I see that. Well, I’ll just get some back up, then.” Dagon swore, and closed her eyes intently.

A moment of silence followed.

“Why can’t I leave?”

“Oh, shit! Holy symbol. Satan damn it, we’re both stuck.”

“Hastur....... you’re getting demoted.”

A fair few hours later:

Aziraphale turned the lock to open his bookshop again. It was night now.

He felt satisfied. The Child was happy and healthy, and would be born soon.

Of course, he avoided Crowley once he was done helping Rachel. That was a can of worms no one needed to open.

An especially sinful can of worms.

The iron doorknob felt cold on his fingers as he turned it and went inside.

Going inside, he realized he heard voices.

“What on Earth?” He whispered.

Aziraphale snuck through his own shop, grabbing a heavy copy of Great Expectations, signed by Charles*.

A bit wordy, it was a good stand-in when one loses their flaming sword.

He climbed up the stairs into his apartment to see not one, not two, but three demons in his apartments.

The room was chaos, and in the middle, the holy symbol was drawn pure white upon the floor, and it appeared a pentagram was drawn within that.

In the circle, two of the demons sat playing poker.

They didn’t know how to play anything that didn’t involve gambling. 

Outside the holy prison sat Crowley on the couch, watching them with a glass of wine in one long-fingered hand.

“Hastur—who is that— and Crowley— What is going on?!?” Aziraphale demanded.

Three pairs of eyes turned to him: two dark as pitch, and one a beautiful yellow that made him think of the depths of a cozy fire.

“Oh, hello, Aziraphale!” Crowley broke the silence that had ensued.  
“Hastur here tried to summon a fellow demon— by the way, say hi to my superior, Dagon. Lord of the files. Isn’t she the sweetest?— and now they’re both trapped here like a spider’s web traps a— oh what are those things called?”

Dagon— the foul filthy demon next to Hastur on the floor, hissed at Aziraphale. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Oh- Dagon. It’s been a while.” Aziraphale said awkwardly. What do you say to a demon, when the last time you spoke to them, they were an angel?

“Anyway, this is an issue to deal with later.” Crowley interrupted. “We need to speak— downstairs. It’s urgent, Angel.”

Hastur and Dagon exchanged an interested look. They, too, knew about Aziraphale’s dreams. Hastur had never slept before, and thus heard the angel moaning Crowley’s name while he slept. Aziraphale threw his book at them; it fell short by a fair few feet.

“Oh, do mind your own business.” He griped at them, following Crowley down the set of stairs back again to his bookshop.

“How’d you get in, Crowley?” He asked, intrigued.

“Upstairs window,” Crowley answered, disappearing into the realistic fiction corner.

Aziraphale sighed. He sat down at a table in the center of his little shop.

“Dangerous, you know. You could have been discorporated.” He mumbled to himself.

Crowley, still hidden, remained silent.

Aziraphale suddenly looked down at the book in front of him. ‘Dreams and How To Interpret Them,’ he read.

The title immediately brought back a memory he was trying to repress: the kiss.

It made his toes curl just thinking of it.

“What’re you reading, angel?” Crowley, all of a sudden, purred in his right ear.

He jumped immediately, effectively covering the tiny moan that had escaped at the tone of Crowley’s voice.

The demon crept closer, pinning him to the wall. His breath was warm and inviting, and he licked his lips.

“Crowley- I— we’ve discussed this.” Aziraphale whimpered, his self control crumbling.

Crowley’s hand came up and he grabbed a lock of the angel’s hair between two fingers.

His eyes locked with Aziraphale’s, and they made the angel think things he tried desperately not to show on his face.

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity but was truly only a few seconds.

Crowley leaned down, and whispered,”I don’t know what you’re talking about, angel,” and sauntered away. The demon’s hips swung from side to side and Aziraphale was mesmerized. Crowley turned at the entrance and waved cheekily before leaving.

Aziraphale sagged against the bookshelf, full of desperation, and then, after a moment, irritation.

He had a sneaking suspicion what Crowley was trying to do, and he didn’t approve.

*Aziraphale hadn’t particularly liked Mr. Dickens, but he was what the people wanted.


	15. Duty Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale and Crowley need to face the future.

Back at Crowley’s apartment, Rachel was attempting to dial the bookshop’s number, but in her pain, she couldn’t get it right. Her fingers slipped, and the phone fell out of her hand as she collapsed onto the couch.

When Crowley swaggered in, she was lying on the couch, covered in sweat. 

“Crowley...” she gasped.

He dropped his bag and ran to her.

“I’m in labor,” Rachel whimpered.

“Wha- What?” Crowley spluttered. “What do I do?”

“Call the angel!?!” She screamed suddenly, grasping his wrist with an iron grip as she began turning red.

He nodded, running to the phone. It seemed these days he wouldn’t be getting any rest.

“Aziraphale,” He panted once the angel had picked up. “Rachel’s in labor.”

The angel gasped,” I’ll be right there,”

They sat in mostly silence, with Crowley occasionally reassuring her, and Rachel clutching his hand desperately.

Her hand was clammy in his, and Crowley watched her face twist in pain, tears making their way down her face. 

As his gaze was on her face, she opened her eyes, which were already bloodshot, and she let out a scream of pain, so powerful in its intensity that Crowley swallowed his emotions, and looked up.

“Why?” He whispered to the sky, through his ceiling.

Within five minutes of the call, Aziraphale flew through the doorway.

“How is she?” He panted.

“She’s right here!” Rachel yelled. “Get me to my church!”

Her hair was wild as she struggled against the demon to get up.

“Why a church?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“I was born there.” She said quickly, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll get you there.”

“Me too!” Crowley added.

The unlikely trio set off down the stairs, as she continued to shake in pain. 

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around her shoulders to help her. He felt her muscles start to give, and beside them, Crowley started to help. She let out a small sob as the pain receded.

Aziraphale sat with her in the backseat of the Bentley as Crowley started it, driving as he always did: like a madman.

They peeled out of main London, heading for Lower Tadfield. 

The breeze blew speedily past the cracked open window, and the smell of rain created a short sense of tranquility for Aziraphale.

“My church is the other way!” She screamed, clawing at the angel.

Aziraphale whispered to her in an ancient language as Crowley looked over the seat at them.

“Anathema told me to bring you to her. It’s important.”

They reached the city limits, and the English countryside blurred outside the window.

Rachel took several deep breaths, and closed her eyes as her brow dripped with sweat.

“Hurry up!” Aziraphale urged for once. “I’m worried.”

Crowley slammed on the gas, and they all were jerked back in their seats as his trusted vehicle reached inhuman speeds.

Anathema looked out the window. The stars were especially bright.

They twinkled and shone, clearly in the night sky.

She knew that the Child was finally being born.

Agnes knew that too, of course.  
She’d known for 400 years.

Adam lay in bed, and something kept him awake.

It was a nagging feeling, deep in him. He rolled over, and caught a glimpse of the bright stars out his bedroom window

He sat up, and Dog perked up next to him.

“He’s being born,” Adam whispered.

In heaven, the angels were meeting excitedly.

“The time has come.” Michael spoke. 

Uriel glanced around, and several other angels held their breath.

They smiled, ready.

In hell, a different meeting was held.

“Where the heaven is Dagon?” Beelzebub asked.

“She was summoned to Earth.” 

“Fine. For the time being, keep tabs on both the Antichrist and the new Child. The Rapture is approaching.”

Crowley pulled up to Jasmine Cottage, running over some of the flowers to be closer to the front door.

Adam came riding his bike along the dirt road, in his pajamas, with Dog next to him.

Rachel, meanwhile, was attempting to breathe through a contraction.

Aziraphale helped her sit up, and with trouble, they managed to get out of the car. Crowley rushes to them, and both angel and demon walked her straight into the cottage.

A bed was already set up in the living room. Anathema was there, waiting. She was wearing witch-like scrubs with gloves, and her eyes were unreadable as she watched them bring the laboring woman in.

Crowley helped Aziraphale lift Rachel onto the bed as Adam came in and looked at her with concern.

“Adam, you don’t want to see this,” Anathema told him. “You might as well go home,”

Adam crossed his arms and sat down on the couch next to Newt, who was sleeping. Dog came in and hopped up next to the both of them.

Rachel looked around, eyes wild. “Who are you?” 

Anathema, with her brown eyes gazing at Rachel serenely, almost sadly, answered, “I’m a witch, and you’re the Mother of Christ.”


	16. The Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which He is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter has some upsetting content.

6 hours later

The sun was beginning to extend its rosy fingers through the windows of Jasmine Cottage as Rachel gave a final push. She fainted as the Child slid out.

Suddenly, the sound of a newborn crying filled the room. Newt and Crowley jolted awake, and Adam stepped closer. The crying ceased, and ended altogether.

Aziraphale cut the umbilical cord and wrapped up the Child in a soft blue blanket.

He took a wipe and wiped off His face.

“A beautiful baby boy, Rachel,” He said tenderly, as she was revived, and tried to see her child. She fell back in bed, too weak to sit up.

The angel passed Him to his mother, who looked down upon Him in adoration.

“What are you going to name him?” Adam asked suddenly, his voice still a little hoarse.

She looked up, confused.

Rachel blinked. “I didn’t think about that. Jesus, I guess?”

Crowley groaned, sliding his hand down his face. “How unoriginal.”

“What about Christian?” Aziraphale suggested.

“That’s advertising.” Newt complained, yawning.

Rachel closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” She glances down at her child again, who seemed so peaceful in her arms.

Adam spoke up again. “What about Nathaniel? It means—“

“Gift of God,” Aziraphale and Anathema spoke in unison.

The Child cooed and grabbed Aziraphale’s finger in his chubby fist.

“It’s perfect.” Rachel whispered. “And Joseph as a middle name.”

Nathan opened his eyes. They were a brilliant blue, and seemed wise beyond compare.

He smiled. Then, as though a storm cloud had appeared, he frowned.

Suddenly, Rachel put a hand to her chest. “Would someone like to hold Nathaniel? I don’t feel well all of a sudden.”

Anathema checked her pulse. “It’s a little slow. Aziraphale, watch Nathaniel for a moment.”

The angel eagerly opened his arms and cuddled the newborn to his chest. Nathaniel reaches with his chubby arms, towards Aziraphale’s face, but his face looked like the baby was going to start crying.

A flood of blood came forth from whence He came, between Rachel’s legs, staining the bed.

Aziraphale took Nathaniel quickly and stepped into the kitchen as Crowley followed. The demon stopped in the doorway and turned to help Anathema.

“It’s a postpartum hemorrhage.” Anathema gasped, grabbing the closest pair of hands to massage Rachel’s abdomen: Crowley’s.

“Rub here, I’m going to go get medicine.” She ordered, dropping her gloves and bolting up the stairs.

Adam looked between Rachel, again unconscious, and Newt, who looked absolutely terrified.

As Crowley rubbed, Rachel gave a twitch, and went scarily still. The muscles in her face relaxed, and her expression seemed too tranquil even for sleep.

“Rachel,” the demon whispered. “Are you all right?”

No answer. Adam took her hand in both of his, and began to pray.

Newt, back on the couch, was dumbfounded.

“Mary didn’t die, Rachel can’t,” he kept whispering.

“She might not have been able to take the stress; she is a smaller woman,” Crowley pointed out sadly, gulping and looking away from the unmoving body.

Anathema came running in with a glass of water and pain relief medicine.

She stopped when she saw Crowley laying Rachel back on the bed.

From the other room, Nathan began to cry.

“She’s dead.” Anathema whispered, the glass falling from her hand.

It hit the ground and shattered, spraying water and glass shards everywhere.

Crowley kissed Rachel’s forehead tenderly, setting her in a more peaceful pose.

He left the room to enter the kitchen, seeing Aziraphale in there tending to the Child.

“I’ll hold him, you—comfort them,” Crowley trailed off.

And so the angel handed Christ over to the demon, and left.

Crowley looked down at Nathaniel.

He was small, but already was very awake, and he had short curly brown hair.

He was warm, like holding a rock that was almost hot enough to burn you, but not quite.

Crowley figured that was mild for such a holy figure.

“It’d be ironic if THIS one had hooves,” he said to himself, and began laughing hysterically. He started breathing heavily, and feeling dizzy.

Nathaniel reached up and touched his nose, and Crowley calmed.

A smile lit up his face as his eyes softened, and tears came again.


	17. Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam continues his education with Crowley and Aziraphale.

Two months later

“Crowley, where’d you put Nathaniel’s diaper bag?” Aziraphale hollered. He was in his bookshop, holding an eight-week-old Son of the Almighty over his shoulder.

An answering yell was,”Under your cookbooks!” from upstairs in the flat.

After the Birth, Adam had been growing steadily worse, and Aziraphale no longer could put off paying him a visit.

It seemed everyone was getting worse after Rachel’s death.

Nathaniel wouldn’t sleep, Anathema had worked herself sick, and Aziraphale’s dreams were getting worse.

Of course, he ignored it, as always. Crowley hadn’t exactly been helping.

Surprisingly, he’d been helping the angel at every opportunity, and Aziraphale swore that the demon was TRYING to drive him wild.

A graze of an elbow here, a whispered word here, and Aziraphale would be jelly. Of course, that would always be when Crowley had something at home he needed to do.

Crowley came downstairs in a tailored black suit, looking like Sin itself, which of course, he was.

Aziraphale closed his mouth and strapped Nathaniel into his new favorite invention, the Baby Bjorn.

Nathaniel grinned and wiggled Aziraphale’s bow tie, which, thankfully, did not budge.

“Let’s go, angel.” Crowley grinned back at the baby, and Aziraphale had to fight off a sigh of contentment.

“First— did you release Hastur and Dagon?” Aziraphale asked.

“They’re back and safe in Hell, banished from the Earth for the next decade.”

They nodded and left the shop, locking it up, and Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale to climb into the passenger side of the Bentley. As the angel got in, he felt a quick squeeze of his posterior.

He fell the rest of the way in shock.

Crowley, chuckling, walked around the car and gracefully sat in the driver’s side.

Aziraphale glared.”Crowley! Not in front of Nathaniel!” He scolded.

The demon wiggled an eyebrow as they took off. “Then when he’s off to bed, I suppose?”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and Crowley was amused to see he’d turned an absolutely tomato color.

“Let’s put on some music,” Crowley suggested, turning on the radio.

As ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ blared through the car, the unlikeliest of trios sped off towards Tadfield.

Once arrived at Hogback Wood, the place chosen for Adam’s ‘Lessons’:

Crowley watched from afar as Aziraphale was burping Nathaniel outside Jasmine Cottage.

“—wley, are you paying attention?” Adam demanded.

Crowley turned to the twelve year old boy next to him. Adam had gotten even taller since he had seen him last, and his hair had darkened*.

“Ok, Adam. Look, my lesson’s the easy part. Remember the two steps?” Crowley urged.

“One:” Adam started.”ask yourself what you want. And..... Two: get it.”

Crowley grinned. “Of course.”

Adam looked at him seriously, raising an eyebrow. “But you don’t even do that.” 

Crowley raised a surprised eyebrow in response.

“You don’t have Aziraphale yet, I can tell.” Adam deadpanned.

The demon huffed, flopping onto a tree stump.

“He can’t seem to take a hint.” Crowley complained. “He’s ignoring me. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Adam sat on a rock next to him. “I have a suggestion.” 

Crowley looked up, interested.

“Ask yourself, if you were him, when do you feel most comfortable? And help him feel that way around you.” The Antichrist recommended.

Crowley nodded. “You know what? This lesson helped me more than it helped you.”

Adam smiled. “Eh, that’s all right. Just send over the angel.”

Crowley nodded, getting up and sauntered through the woods, over to Aziraphale.

“Now, Adam. What is it you’ve been dreaming of?” Aziraphale asked kindly.

“This girl at school; Amy.” Adam said.

“Well, you think of Amy. Now, what DON’T you like about her?” The angel asked.

Adam screwed up his face, thinking. 

“Well, she ignores this other girl who doesn’t have any friends.” He said after a few minutes.

“Good. Now, every time you think of her, think of that poor girl who was rebuffed.” Aziraphale advised.

Adam nodded. It might just work.

“What do you think of when you are thinking of Crowley?” He asked curiously.

Aziraphale looked at Adam, and was silent.

“Well— I suppose I think of how in a few years, he could die. I think of what the other demons would do to him if— it doesn’t bear thinking about. So it’s best not to get to attached.”

Adam gasped. “Why would he die?” 

“The Rapture.” Aziraphale said sadly. “The demons coming to Earth will massacre him.”

The Antichrist stood, and his eyes glowed a bright red for a second, then dulled. “We’ll protect him.” He said, so confident that Aziraphale’s eyes filled with happy tears.

The angel nodded. He had nothing more to say.

*and despite Sister Mary Loquacious’ hope, Adam still didn’t resemble his Satanic father.


End file.
